A Novel Murder

by K. C. Wells

  With a heavy sigh, she closed her notepad. “Sorry. It’s just that ever since Teresa Malvain announced she was going to attend, this event has blown up out of all proportion. I thought we’d sell maybe fifty or so tickets when I first envisaged this. But now we’re talking hundreds.” She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you so much for organizing the dinner the night before it kicks off. It was a wonderful idea. Seating the authors with their fans… brilliant. Of course, everyone wanted to be at the top table.”

  “There’s a top table?” Mike grinned. “Sounds more like a wedding than a literary dinner.” He picked up the coffeepot. “Another?”

  Heather held out her empty cup. “Thanks. I need all the caffeine I can get. And God, yes, there’s a top table. They all want to have dinner with Teresa.” She sighed again. “We’ve sold every ticket for the dinner. The ballroom will be packed. I still can’t thank you enough for agreeing to hold the festival here. Such beautiful surroundings.”

  “I take it all the authors have confirmed their attendance?” Mike asked.

  “Every last one of them. And not just authors. We’ve got publishers attending, not to mention Professor Harcourt.”

  “That name rings a bell.” Mike stroked his beard thoughtfully. Jonathon loved how he did that. Almost as much as he enjoyed stroking Mike’s full beard. Of course, he also loved it when Mike used it in more creative ways. Then he realized Mike was staring at him, his lips twitching.

  He reads my mind far too easily.

  Mike widened his eyes. “Got it. He’s a forensic pathologist. The Met used him as an expert witness loads of times. How did you get him to come?”

  “He’s going to give a talk on autopsies. He said it would be a great opportunity to show that the crime shows on TV get it all wrong.” Heather chuckled. “Sounds like it’ll be interesting. As long as he doesn’t bring visual aids. I don’t want the readers throwing up.”

  “Why am I picturing Doctor Who’s hand floating in a jar?” Jonathon snickered.

  Mike rolled his eyes.

  “And as for getting him to come, he didn’t take much persuading once he knew who the main speaker was. Apparently he’s a fan.” Heather finished her coffee. “If you’re sure we’ve covered everything?”

  Jonathon gave her a hopefully reassuring smile. “I’m sure. Try not to worry. I know this is your baby, but trust me, it’s going to run like a well-oiled machine. Before you blink, it’ll be Saturday and the readers will be lining up on the driveway, ready to collect their programs and tote bags.”

  She stared at him. “The tote bags! I forgot about them.”

  Mike laughed. “Will you stop panicking? Everything is under control. The volunteers spent yesterday filling them with all the swag that was sent to us, as well as all the free books. I never saw so many boxes.” He took hold of her hand. “Breathe, Heather. The bags will be in the entrance hall on two long tables. Once a reader shows their registration details, they’ll be given a bag. Every author was sent details of accommodations, here and in nearby towns. And the guest of honor arrived today. She’s already in her room at the pub, though why she wanted to stay there and not a hotel, I’m not sure.”

  “And Mike is treating her like royalty,” Jonathon added. He didn’t tell her how Mike had gone into panic mode when Teresa requested a room, but he knew that had mostly to do with Mike wanting to make a good impression. He needn’t have worried. The room looked amazing. And besides, Teresa knew it was a room above a pub, not in a plush hotel, so she couldn’t really complain.

  “You two have been so wonderful.” Heather stood and collected her bag from the back of her chair. “Still, I’ll be relieved when it’s Sunday night and this is over. Then I’ll relax.”

  “Before you start planning the 2019 Merrychurch Literary Festival, you mean.” Mike grinned. “Because you know this one is going to go so well, you’ll have to do it again. Your only task will be going one better than Teresa Malvain.”

  “Think big,” Jonathon suggested. “Stephen King. Neil Gaiman. Nora Roberts.”

  Heather snorted. “Getting Teresa was a fluke. I doubt I can improve on her. Unless she loves it so much, she wants to come back.”

  Jonathon rose to his feet. “I’ll show you out. And we’ll see you tomorrow afternoon so you can check over the ballroom.”

  Heather gave him an unexpected hug. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.” She released him and grabbed Mike. “You too.”

  Mike let out an oof. “Wow. When you hug, you really hug. Glad we could help. Now go get some sleep. It’s already past ten o’clock.”

  They walked her through the manor house until they reached the entrance hall. Heather stared at the tables laden with bright red tote bags, all bearing Teresa Malvain’s logo and the black-and-white cover of the latest Summersfield book, her murder-mystery series. Posts with arrows pointed the way to the ballroom.

  “There’ll be a big seating plan for when the dinner guests arrive tomorrow night,” Jonathon informed Heather. “So when they enter the ballroom, everyone will know where to go. The menu is on each table, and the catering staff is aware of all the allergies.” He patted her shoulder. “Now stop worrying and go home.”

  Heather gave them a tired smile. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. My baby is in safe hands.”

  Mike opened the door for her, and she walked out to her car. They waved her off, then came back inside. Mike locked the door. “I could go back and relieve Abi for the last hour or so.”

  Jonathon sighed. “You know she hates it when you leave her in charge, then come back. She doesn’t get to be in charge that often.”

  “She’s running the pub tomorrow night while I’m at the dinner, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, and I’m sure that makes her very happy. Now let her do her job.”

  Mike frowned. “But Teresa—”

  “Teresa is probably in the bar having a drink, or more likely in her room, on her laptop or her phone. And if she needs anything, Abi is there to provide it. Besides….” Jonathon grinned. “Which would you rather do? Go back and work behind the bar until closing, or stay the night with me?”

  Mike let out an exaggerated sigh. “When you put it like that….” He grabbed Jonathon’s hand. “Janet’s gone to bed, right?”

  Jonathon gazed at him suspiciously. “Why?”

  Mike pulled him close, his beard tickling Jonathon’s neck, his breath warm on Jonathon’s skin. “Because I want to screw you on the couch, and I really don’t want your housekeeper walking in on us. I don’t think she’d ever recover from the shock.”

  “I appreciate your consideration. I don’t want to lose her.” Jonathon caught his breath when Mike slid his hands down Jonathon’s back and squeezed his jeans-clad arse. “Now stop talking about Janet and take me to the living room so we can get naked.”

  He hated wasting naked time.

  THEY LAY beneath the sheets, cuddling. Mike had never thought he was much of a cuddler until he met Jonathon. Having him in his arms was one of Mike’s favorite ways to spend time, and as much as he loved their sex life, cuddling was a close second. He enjoyed the intimacy of it, of feeling so close that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Mike loved the sleep-heavy sound of Jonathon’s voice. “You can ask me anything.” He was warm, sated, and blissfully content.

  “How do you feel about… children?”

  “I like them. I just couldn’t eat a whole one.”

  That earned him a whack on the arm. “I’m being serious here.”

  “So was I. Have you any idea how tough those things can get?” Mike kissed Jonathon’s bare shoulder. “Okay. Now I’ve got my serious head on. Are you asking if I want to have kids?” It wasn’t as if the subject hadn’t come up before, but always as a slight reference. This had a different feel to it, and the thought sent a tremor through him, as though their relationship had slipped into a higher gear.

/>   What really surprised Mike was that he liked the idea.

  They’d been together almost a year, and he loved the way things were progressing. Thomas de Mountford was the only fly in the ointment, but he’d been quiet of late, so maybe Jonathon’s idea of being public with Ruth was paying off. But children?

  Jonathon rolled over to face him. “I’ll be honest. I gave little thought to having kids. I was happy going around the world, taking photos, getting them published…. I never thought of settling down, having a family. Then I met you. Don’t get me wrong. I still want to travel, but now I want you with me. Which is why it’s a good thing to get Abi used to running the pub, because if I decide to ask you to come to Vietnam with me….”

  Mike stilled. “Vietnam?” He stretched over and switched on the light. Jonathon blinked and rubbed his eyes. Mike settled back on his side, facing him. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

  “A while, I suppose. Probably as long ago as November last year. It just felt too soon.”

  “And now?” Yeah, this whole conversation was suddenly a lot more serious.

  Jonathon’s hand was warm on his chest. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. I think that’s down to my father. But what shocked me is that I want a family. So yes, I’m asking… do you want kids? More specifically, do you want to have kids with me?”

  “You mean it.” Like he couldn’t hear the sincerity in Jonathon’s voice.

  Jonathon nodded. “We can talk about the logistics at a later date. Right now I want to know if you like the idea in principle.”

  Mike took a deep breath. “I love the idea. I think you’d make a wonderful dad. Watching you with Rachel’s granddaughter showed me that.”

  Jonathon smiled. “She’s adorable, isn’t she? And so tiny.”

  “You do know they get bigger, right?”

  “Why no, I had no idea.” Jonathon chuckled. “And what about you? I love seeing you and Jason together. He really looks up to you.”

  Mike enjoyed it when Jason Barton came over. Since the shock of learning Mayor John Barton wasn’t his biological father, Jason’s life had settled down again. He and the ex-mayor were still close. However, he spent a lot of time with Jonathon in the photo editing room, learning more about photography. And when he wasn’t there, he was chatting with Mike about all kinds of things. Mike liked having him around, and it was obvious that the eighteen-year-old had a strong case of hero worship going on. Not that Mike minded that at all. Since Jason had come out the previous year, he’d had a lot of questions, and both Mike and Jonathon wanted to be there for him.

  “So we’re agreed. We’d both make great fathers.” Mike kissed the tip of Jonathon’s nose. “But kids and traveling are not a good combination.”

  “Okay. Travel first, then have kids.” Jonathon sounded so confident. Mike felt it was one of his most attractive qualities.

  “You know your father will freak, right?”

  It was Jonathon’s turn to kiss the tip of Mike’s nose. “You leave my father to me. As long as I know we’re on the same page, that’s enough for now.” He shifted closer. “I think having a baby with you sounds amazing.” His voice was husky.

  Mike thought having a baby with Jonathon sounded more than amazing. It yelled commitment, and that made his heart soar. Me and Jonathon. Kids. A family.

  Mike didn’t think he’d ever been happier.

  Jonathon’s warm fingers encircled Mike’s dick, and Mike chuckled. “As long as you’re not planning on me getting you pregnant. Because I foresee a problem with that.”

  Jonathon kissed his neck, and a shiver ran through him. “Just think of all the fun we’ll have trying.”

  Mike sighed happily when Jonathon threw back the sheets and sat astride him, already reaching for the lube. “I take it we’re starting now.”

  Jonathon nodded before bending over to kiss him on the mouth. “No time like the present.”

  Chapter Three

  JONATHON TOOK one last look around the ballroom. The fifteen or so large round tables were all set up, covered in white tablecloths, with ten place settings at each. Wine and water glasses gleamed, and for each place, there was a bag containing a gift from the author who would be sitting there. Jonathon loved that. He’d already met a few of the authors, who seemed thrilled to be there. And at one of those tables would be one of his dearest friends, Melinda Talbot. Weeks before, when he’d shown Melinda the list of attending authors, she’d given her husband, Lloyd, a beseeching glance. With a sigh, Lloyd had inquired about getting her a ticket. Jonathon wasn’t all that surprised to find Lloyd not interested in the festival—he doubted the vicar had much time for fiction.

  “It looks wonderful.” Heather appeared at his side. “And the dinner guests are starting to arrive.” She glanced around. “Where’s Mike?”

  “Bringing Teresa. They should be here any minute.”

  “What’s she like? I’ve never spoken to her. We’ve communicated so far via email.”

  Jonathon was not about to reveal Mike’s initial impressions. After spending five minutes with her, he’d sent Jonathon a text.

  God, she loves herself.

  “I haven’t met her yet,” Jonathon said truthfully. He gazed at the large easel where the seating plan was balanced. Each table had a large number at the center, clearly visible. He stepped closer to peer at the list below Table 1. “I’m sure you have your reasons, Heather, but putting you, me, and Mike all on one table with Teresa? Wouldn’t it be better to spread us around a little?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Probably, but I wasn’t thinking logically. It was more along the lines of ‘I want you there for moral support.’”

  He could understand that. It was Heather’s first major event, and she was barely keeping her nerves in check. “Fair enough. I just hope Teresa doesn’t feel overwhelmed.” He took another look at the list. “Have you met any of the other authors at our table?”

  Heather shook her head. “The only people I know at the table are you, Mike, and Fiona McBride. I haven’t met the other authors yet, and the additional guests aren’t even from Merrychurch. They’ve come for the festival.” She smiled. “Every B and B and guesthouse in the village must be at bursting point, there are so many visitors.”

  Jonathon had wondered about the unfamiliar names at their table. “Fiona McBride. She’s a villager, isn’t she? Doesn’t she live near the water mill?”

  “That’s right. And we had to put her at the top table. She’s Teresa’s number one fan.”

  Jonathon chuckled. “Okay. Shades of Misery here. As long as she doesn’t do a Kathy Bates number on her.”

  Heather tut-tutted. “Fiona created the Teresa Malvain Fan Club. It’s a huge undertaking, because Teresa has fans all over the world. The Summersfield books have been translated into several languages. Fiona runs the website for the club. She keeps readers posted on everything Teresa is doing, new releases, social media links….”

  “Then I can understand why you’d put her on our table. It wouldn’t be right to seat her anywhere else.” Jonathon took another glance at the board. “And we’ve got Professor Harcourt too. That could make for some interesting dinner conversation.” He grinned. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Oh sure. Murder and forensics. I can see it now. Teresa will be talking about killing people, and the professor will be talking about what he does when the bodies end up on his table.” Heather shuddered. “Please tell me I placed them next to each other, so the rest of us don’t have to listen to their grisly conversation.”

  Jonathon burst into laughter. “I hardly think their discussions will be grisly.” He peered at his watch. “We’d better get out there.” He’d arranged for waiters to be in place in the entrance hall, serving glasses of wine or juice.

  They left the ballroom and were immediately immersed in a crowd of people drinking and talking animatedly. Jonathon caught sight of Mike as he entered the hall, an immaculately dressed woman with a discontented expres
sion at his side. The first thought to cross Jonathon’s mind was that Teresa needed to look like she was happy to be there. He walked toward them, his hand outstretched.

  “Welcome to de Mountford Hall.”

  Teresa took it briefly. “Then you must be our host, Jonathon de Mountford. I remember your uncle, Dominic. He seemed a fair man, if a little aloof.”

  For a moment Jonathon was shocked into silence by the sharp remark. He quickly recovered. “Strange. I never found him to be like that. But maybe that’s because I knew him better than most.” He bit back the words including you. It wouldn’t do to offend the guest of honor before the festival had begun, even one who appeared not to care whom she offended. “I’ve been informed you were once a resident of Merrychurch. Has it changed much?”

  Teresa gave a little snort. “Hardly. But then, Merrychurch always felt like it was stuck in a different era.” She didn’t make it sound like that was a good thing.

  Mike cleared his throat. “Are they ready for us in there?”

  Jonathon really hoped so. Polite small talk with Teresa was not his idea of fun. In as few as two exchanges, she’d succeeded in putting his back up. “Let’s find out.” As he walked toward the ballroom door, it opened and a waiter appeared, dressed in black.

  “We’re ready for you and your guests, Mr. de Mountford.”

  Before Jonathon could thank him, Teresa’s sharp voice interjected. “Mr. de Mountford? I’d have thought living in the manor house, you were at least a lord or something.”

  “The de Mountfords are one of the oldest families in England,” a female voice exclaimed suddenly. They were joined by a middle-aged woman in a dark blue dress and jacket. “The title may have died out, but thankfully the family has not.”

  Teresa arched her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “Thank you for the history lesson, Mrs.….”

  “McBride. Fiona McBride.” Fiona gave a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m surprised you don’t remember me.”